One moment of weakness
by Crazyangel1
Summary: Sara made a mistake years ago. Now that mistake comes to Las Vegas and threatens to end her career.
1. Default Chapter

Author: CrazyAngel  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Sara, Catherine, Grissom, Nick nor Warrick (although I'm planning to kidnap him and chain him to my bed…I was kidding. Really. I wouldn't chain him)  
  
Author's Notes: What's your name?, Nice name…now [insert your name here] concentrate on what I'm writing…concentrate on E-A-C-H letter, you're calm, you're in a sandy beach, you're in Hawaii, everything is peaceful, the sun is setting, you're breathing slooooooooowly, inhale and exhale, in and out…now repeat with me [insert name]:  
  
I WANT TO REVIEW THIS FIC,  
  
I WANT TO REVIEW THIS FIC,  
  
I WANT TO REVIEW THIS FIC…  
  
********  
  
Sitting in the front seat of my car, peering through the windshield to make sure it was really him, I couldn't help but repeating the same worn-out- line used in almost every movie ever made: 'isn't this a small world?'. A line that didn't have much meaning to me until today. Suddenly I was imagining myself on a dusty old western film saying the same line to my nemesis after giving him or her my best ice cold glare.  
  
I shook my head, sipped at my lukewarm coffee and dragged myself back to reality: parking lot , Las Vegas, an island of casinos in a sea of desert.  
  
I didn't want to get out of the car yet, somehow I felt safe there. It was a stupid thing to feel at the moment and it reminded me of my childhood. It was the same false sense of security I used to have when I pulled my bed covers up to my nose as if they were some kind of protective shield against the imaginary monsters I'd seen in a prohibited horror movie. Usually hiding inside my closet I knew they were waiting to leap out and eat me. I smiled inwardly. Kids.  
  
Two knocks on my window startled me out of my reverie. It was Nick. Great, now I would have to leave the car. Time to poke my head out of the covers and face the monster.  
  
"Are you coming out or am I supposed to tell Grissom we all should meet here?". The always happy, cheerful Nicky. I answer no, I got out of the car and scan the parking lot, he wasn't there anymore.  
  
"You heard about that new guy transferred from San Francisco?", Nick commented as we made our way through the parked cars. He had a strange smile, kinda like a nosy neighbor gossiping during a tea session, that betrayed the casualness of his comment. Nick was really asking me if I knew him.  
  
"Dylan 'Something', I may have seen him a few times", I lied. Bad, bad Sara, go stand in a corner.  
  
***  
  
"He's already attracting some dayshift female eyes", Nick said after slumping onto the break room's couch and turning the TV on. No one else was there and this was the first time in my life that I actually wished I were late for work.  
  
"Am I sensing a macho-rivalry towards this new guy?", I teased. Don't worry Nick, he's a self-centered, over-confident, blackmailing good looking idiot, those 'females eyes' will only need to date him once to discover it and run away to your arms.  
  
"I'm a confident man, I don't believe in that 'this is my turf' macho crap", he stated seriously although he himself knew at some unconscious level that it was not true. I don't blame him, I'm pretty territorial myself.  
  
"Of course you don't Nick", I said. I decided to sit beside him for the sole propose of hiding from plain view, where I could be easily spotted by Dylan Harris, my nemesis.  
  
I snatched the remote from his hand and started to jump from channel to channel like a crazy kangaroo, not staying longer than two seconds on each. This would annoy most people, but Nick seemed to agree with my 'zapping' just fine. I stopped when I heard the word 'murder', I glanced at Nick and he nodded approvingly. Where many marriages had failed to come to an agreement, we scientists had done it in less than a minute.  
  
"Cold Cases", Nick said, "Good stuff."  
  
It seems that when you don't wanna bump into a particular person, fate or whatever you wanna call it puts him directly in front of you.  
  
Dylan strolled gracefully into the break room without saying hello and whisked a small stack of papers off the table, I was hoping for the end of the world or an invisibility suit, but neither of them was there when he turned around and our eyes met. I remembered how much I hate him.  
  
"Oh, hi Sara I didn't know you worked here!". We had one thing in common though, we were both liars. He extended his hand to me and I did the same, then he shook hands with Nick. A small polite courtesy that meant nothing if you knew Dylan. He could be shaking hands with you and plotting you assassination while he was doing it.  
  
"Nick Stokes", Nick said smiling. I sniffed testosterone in the room, that and Dylan's expensive cologne.  
  
"Dylan Harris", he said with a warm smile, "If you will excuse me, I've got some urgent things to do, see ya later Sara. Nice to meet you Nick." He flashed a winning smile and left the room.  
  
"'See ya later Sara'", Nick cooed, "Did I see an old spark between you two?", he asked playfully while he strode across the room to get himself his second cup of coffee of the night.  
  
The only 'spark' there was between us was the one that formed when our personalities crashed against one another like a head-on collision between two cars going at 160 m/p/h.  
  
I could feel my eyebrows forming a frown "Oh shut up Nick, I barely know that guy". This lying thing was addictive. I turned my eyes to the TV screen again and feigned some concentration on what the narrator was saying. When I looked back at Nick, Catherine, Warrick and Grissom had materialized in the break room.  
  
Warrick was waving at me from the table "Hey! Earth to Sara!". Everyone was staring at me.  
  
"Huh? Yea-yeah I'm here", I stammered. I flipped a button and put the TV in 'mute' and found myself a seat at the table. To my right, Nick, to my left Grissom and in front of me Warrick and Catherine. All of a sudden it all felt weird. The sight of him in here, in Las Vegas had brought the past to the present and San Francisco to Las Vegas. I didn't like that city cocktail mainly because I had come to one running away from the other.  
  
"Sara?". This time it was Grissom, "Are you listening to a word I'm saying?". Grissom's stares were far more intimidating than they appeared, although his intentions, at least this time weren't of intimidation.  
  
"Err you were giving the assignments?", I tried to guess and for my embarrassment this time he wasn't doing that. Catherine smiled at my bad luck, I smiled too. "Sorry, Gris. Won't happen again."  
  
"I was saying", he looked at me, I smiled again, "that we still don't have any assignments."  
  
And how was I supposed to know that! I chose the wrong day to space out for a moment. Grissom continued "So go and do some paper work or whatever you have to do but stay close I'm sure something will happen tonight."  
  
"There's always a wacko in Las Vegas." Warrick muttered as he poured himself and Catherine a cup of coffee.  
  
Yeah, make that two wackos now.  
  
***  
  
'Face it Sara honey, we're in this together'. There he was again. His voice, always so arrogant.  
  
I don't exactly know how memory works, but I know how mine works. I remember every book I have ever read and I could probably tell you the name of the book if you read one paragraph to me. That wasn't uncommon. It was when I had to remember specific talks I'd had with someone that everything got tricky. As time passed some things tended to be forgotten and the memory would get blurry and I remembered only scattered phrases and feelings. Again, that's just me.  
  
I've had times in my life that weren't very pleasant. Some more recent than others and some less pleasant than others, they were all locked in a small drawer in some dark corner of my brain, accumulating dust. When one of these moments was pulled out of this dark corner and into the light I started to remember bit by bit what had happened.  
  
'Face it, you should've been more careful'  
  
'You are a despicable man, a pathetic excuse for a human being. I can't believe you took pictures…it never cease to amaze what people do to each other' (that was the line, wasn't it?)  
  
'Oh, poor Sidle. Don't beat yourself up, your intentions were good'  
  
Bits and pieces would pop up in some screen somewhere inside my head. Over and over like a scratched old record. Damned my brain, I wish I could turn it off. I try to distract myself by doing Grissom's crossword puzzle. Nick gives me a warning-you're-playing-with-fire sort of look and I smile.  
  
I threw caution to the wind and read. "A small part or amount of something", I read out loud so Nick could participate, he shrugged his shoulders in a 'what-the-heck' expression and I continued, "Eight letters."  
  
We both meditated for a moment and then said, "Fraction". I wrote down the word, note that I was using a pencil and not a pen. I wasn't that suicidal. I read again while I tapped the pencil against the table. "Short curved sword, blah, blah, one sharp edge used in Eastern countries." Nick raised his eyebrows, he was clueless. I counted the white squares again "Eight letters." I was not.  
  
"Sci-mi-tar", I said as I jotted down the word. I genuinely love this moments. It was fun to be in a place with Nick without a dead body being present.  
  
"What are you doing?". I tossed the small booklet away from me and stared at my nails in a pitiful attempt to appear innocent. Fortunately it was just Warrick. Close shave. I grabbed the booklet again and continued my illicit activity. Warrick smiled shook his head slowly and sat beside Nick.  
  
"You have a death wish, girl?", Warrick asked. I was starting to feel at home and Dylan and San Francisco were almost in that drawer again.  
  
"Are you afraid, Warrick?", I replied with a challenging expression on my face, if went down I didn't want to be alone, "It's just a crossword puzzle".  
  
We all knew it wasn't just that, it was Grissom's crossword puzzle, ownership in this case brought a whole lot of new implications.  
  
"Afraid, moi?. Never." Men. They couldn't resist a challenge.  
  
"Watch it, Brown", Nick warned, he knew what I was trying to do "The lady's smart, this may be a trap." Warrick dismissed Nick's advice with a wave of his hand, he sat on the chair to my left and leaned over my shoulder to read the next word. We were quite close but I wasn't complaining.  
  
"Synonym of extravagant, six letters". Warrick and I weren't exactly best friends but we have our good moments. Just like Tom and Jerry.  
  
"Lavish", Nick shouted as if the word had been on the tip of his tongue for awhile and only now he had been able to get it out, "This isn't so difficult." Warrick and I read the next word. We looked at each other and chuckled.  
  
I read "Land mine, tripped electrically, on command. Sends out a fan-shaped pattern of steel balls that shred anything in their path. Spikes hold it upright on the surface of the ground", I coughed and cleared my throat "You were saying?"  
  
Without any warning Grissom was inside the break room, a loud siren screeched inside my head. Warrick covered me with his back and Nick stood up so fast that I could swear someone had pinched him in the ass.  
  
"He-hello Griss, boss, G-man, how are you? Are there any assignments?", Nick babbled. I couldn't help to giggle as I threw the crossword puzzle under the table. I tapped Warrick's back to let him know he could assume a normal inconspicuous position again.  
  
"What is going on?", Grissom asked, narrowing his eyes.  
  
I think people develop telepathy at inconvenient times because in a cute chorus we all said "Nothing."  
  
I felt like I was six years old again, climbing on kitchen furniture to steal cookies from a jar before dinner.  
  
***  
  
My shift ended uneventful. I called that a man found floating in a pool and a murder that practically solved itself, despite Grissom's teaching that sometimes the obvious isn't what had actually happened. Well this time it had.  
  
So far I had successfully avoided any Dylan related thoughts. But my luck ran out when I was heading towards my car.  
  
"Well, well", Dylan said, "I've been waiting for you." There he was, the devil incarnate.  
  
I'm amazed at how people's manners and attitude change as the person to whom they were talking to changed. For example I like the people I work with so I'm smiley, mostly happy, curious, loose, comfortable and so forth. With this guy I literally mutate into a paranoid, aggressive, mostly curt, cold, temperamental bitch. I had my reasons. That aspect of my personality doesn't creep in unless someone invites it. You don't want to do that.  
  
"I hope you weren't here all night", I snapped "That would make me feel bad". No it wouldn't. He was standing between me and my way of escape, my car. "Out of my way", I hissed.  
  
"You haven't changed a bit, Sara", he was leering at me, something typical of him. He thought that intimidated women. It had the opposite effect on me, it made me want to shoot him, throw his body inside my trunk and bury him someplace in the desert. But that would leave clues. The guy pisses my off but I'm a CSI and above all I'm not stupid. I could do it some other clueless way.  
  
"And I bet you haven't changed either", I blurted out, "Still taking crime scene souvenirs and screwing up evidence?", I asked with a smirk on my face as I revved the engine. He let out a fake laugh and glanced around the parking lot like looking for eavesdroppers or rather 'ear'-droppers.  
  
"Still 'helping' suspects get away with murder?", he quipped. Harris 1, Sidle 0.  
  
I stormed out of the parking lot, burning rubber as I reached the street. There wasn't much traffic, otherwise, at the speed I was going, I would've made a one time appearance in some paper's obituary.  
  
  
  
To be continued…  
  
---------------------  
  
…I WANT TO REVIEW THIS FIC  
  
I WANT TO REVIEW THIS FIC.  
  
I WANT TO REVIEW THIS FIC… 


	2. part two

Like Grissom, I too, enjoy Shakespeare. I want to share this special quote with you.  
  
"To review or not review. That is the question."  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Sara and the rest but I do own the two stacks of cards she plays with.  
  
*****  
  
Being alone in my apartment only made things worst. There weren't a lot of distractions and since furniture hadn't yet developed the ability to talk, I had no one to talk to. I was about to explode so I started pacing back and forth from my bedroom to my kitchen like a caged tiger or something. A word of advice: if you pace long enough you get queasy and disoriented. I heard a growl. My stomach was informing me that I was hungry so I went to check out the contents of my fridge.  
  
'If you take those pictures to the supervisor I swear I'll tell him about your last screw up with the evidence'. I closed the fridge's door, there wasn't anything edible.  
  
Oh, god, this memory thing sucked. My feelings during that conversation came back like a giant emotional tsunami and I had to sit down on the cold floor. Desperation, fear, anger, guilt and uncertainty took over my body. Had I done the right thing that day?.  
  
What's done is done and I can't undo it. I have a theory that if I say that phrase often enough I'm going to end up feeling better. This might be just wishful thinking.  
  
As much as I liked my apartment's floors I wasn't going to spend the rest of the day sitting on it. So I went to my living room which was, at the moment, in its worst shape. I sighed and began to collect jackets, shirts and pajamas off the floor, couch and chairs. Judging by the state of my apartment a stranger would think I was always in a hurry and that I fed off of air and ice cubes.  
  
I tossed the bundle of soon-to-be-cleaned clothes on my bathroom floor, thus leaving my living room in a pristine condition and my bathroom a mess.  
  
I collapsed on my couch and without thinking started to pick up the cards I had strewn all over my table. I didn't remember the last time I'd used them but I didn't have much else to do so what the heck. I realized there were two separate decks, one with the back of the card blue and one in red. When I'm tired and edgy I do mindless things like separating two decks of cards.  
  
"Blue, red, red, red, blue…", I said out loud as I flipped the cards and stacked them up in two piles, "Blue, red, blue, blue."  
  
I stopped, in my left hand I still had a handful of mixed cards and in my right I had a blue card. I had chosen a very ironic task. I bet Freud was smiling down at me from heaven or smiling up at me from hell. Depending on your opinion about his work on human behavior.  
  
Two stacks of cards from two different decks. It was easy to separate them, blue goes on the blue pile, red goes on the red pile. Good, bad, good, bad. The problem was that I had a violet card in my past. I'd done something and I was still trying to figure out if it had been good or bad.  
  
I resumed my activity, I couldn't handle the violet card right now. I'll stick to the easy task "Blue, red, blue, red, red, blue…"  
  
"...you know that's blackmail, Dylan. If the supervisor finds out you're out of here"  
  
"Blue, blue, blue…" Bad, bad, bad.  
  
"… if you like your job Sara, you better keep your mouth shut."  
  
My hands began to shake, and my pulse skyrocketed. I thought I was too young to have a heart attack but you never know.  
  
"...I have the pictures Sidle. I'll tell you what we're going to do: I'll do whatever I please and you don't say a word. Is that clear?"  
  
What could I say? I'd only made one mistake, one mistake. One mistake to help someone. I was ten times better at my job than he was. Was I supposed to quit and let him mess up crimes scenes? Or was I supposed to play the scared animal that found herself between a wall and a hunter's rifle? That wouldn't have represented a performing challenge because I indeed had felt like a trapped animal.  
  
"Yes, it's clear. But this is not over". I'd had to rescue some of my pride. And it wasn't over, he discovered that three months later.  
  
The two decks were finally separated, laying motionless on my table. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on me knees and my hands under my chin. I didn't move for awhile, my eyes went from one deck to the other, trying to decide where would I place my imaginary violet card. It isn't blue, so it's not bad but it isn't red either, so it's not entirely good. I was beginning to think that as green was the color of envy, violet had to be the color of ambiguity.  
  
My heart skipped two beats when my TV turned on by itself. I figured that I'd been playing with the timer again. "Saturday Night Live" was on. A little humor wouldn't hurt me.  
  
***  
  
I was taking some 'fresh air', ironically I was standing pretty close to where Warrick and I'd torched that poor pig. I was early again, I hadn't learnt my lesson. It was freezing but I didn't mind, the sky was clear and the night was beautiful. I dug my hands deeper into my jacket's pockets and sighed. A cloud of vapor came out.  
  
"Do you want to turn into a Popsicle?", Grissom asked. I looked at him and I came this close to spilling everything out to him. I played the hypothetical scenario in my head and it didn't go very well. I ended up fired.  
  
"I was taking some air." He took a step closer to me until our arms were touching, it was really cold.  
  
"You had your 'pondering face' on." My what?? "What were you thinking about?"  
  
I didn't like the direction this conversation was taking, so I tried to make a U-turn "My 'pondering face'? I didn't know I had one." He smiles and I didn't feel cold anymore.  
  
"You know-when you narrow your eyes ", he imitated the gesture "that makes you look pensive." I wonder if he has a dirty secret buried somewhere inside his complex brain.  
  
"Very observant", I joked.  
  
"It's my job", he said, tilting his head towards me as he said so. He might be older than me but the guy was one of those types that makes you want to know what was going on inside that head. In any way possible. Bed, for example, wouldn't be a bad place to start. With that thought I hit a mental road block, that romantic path was closed, plenty of curves and dangerous cliffs ahead.  
  
He asked again "So what were you thinking about?".  
  
I took a deep breath that almost froze my lungs and then exhaled slowly. "The past."  
  
He smiled and looked skywards "Interesting subject." He kept his eyes on the stars, "You can't change it." That's what people usually said about it.  
  
"You sure can't."  
  
"I take it it wasn't a happy moment.", he asked.  
  
"No, it wasn't", I replied gazing up at the stars.  
  
"San Francisco?", he queried. I frowned at looked at him, I was surprised.  
  
"How---?"  
  
"I'm observant, remember? You've been distracted since that dayshift CSI form San Francisco came here", again he smiled and I smiled back. We both went back to our star gazing.  
  
This was turning into a dangerous conversation "Yes, it has to do with San Francisco."  
  
"..and with Mr. Harris?" I fidgeted, he was getting too close. Now I knew how a suspect felt when someone like Grissom interrogated them. He always knew more than you expected.  
  
I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't say anything.  
  
He noticed my reluctance to answer his question and quickly apologized "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to---"  
  
"That's OK", I interrupted him, "You were just asking." If we talked for two more minutes I was going to break into tears and tell him everything.  
  
That was a chancy thing to do. I knew Grissom but from time to time a part of him that I didn't know would crawl into the open only to leave me confused. Catherine *knew* him, Grissom's outbursts never seemed to faze her.  
  
"You know what I hate about the past?", he asked. There you go, that simple act of sharing something was a surprise to me.  
  
"What?"  
  
He pursed his lips, he was looking for the right words "The fact that it affects the present. For example, if you did something wrong, you can't change it so you regret it. If you can't get over it, there's this awful feeling called guilt that follows you around like a rain cloud."  
  
"Nice analogy. You made me wanna buy an umbrella", I said "What if you don't regret what you did but you regret the consequences it brought to you?" I had to ask.  
  
He looked down at his shoes and then back up at me "That's where responsibility comes in. You have to accept the consequences, deal with them." According to what he just said I was supposed to 'deal' with a blackmailer bastard that took pictures of me 'rearranging' evidence to free a guilty suspect. Like many things it sounded sensible in theory but it didn't apply to reality.  
  
"Oh". That was the only thing I managed to utter. He didn't know that I had indeed tried to deal with the situation myself. I too had managed to snap some interesting pictures of him. Unfortunately that hadn't made the situation any easier to deal with.  
  
So this was the situation in San Francisco: we both had (and still have) enough film in our hands to end our careers and we both hated each others guts.  
  
I remembered Nick's comment about 'our old sparkle'. There was your sparkle Nicky.  
  
TBC… 


	3. Part three

Thanks for the reviews (you made me cry…pathetic I know). Keep reviewing or else my world will stop turning and my head will explode (I just waxed my floors so please review).  
  
One more thing: Grissom and Sara rock (although my mom keeps telling me 'he's too old and she's too spicy'… whatever, she thought Scully and Skinner were meant to each other) There's your answer purple-vixen.  
  
***************  
  
'Are you listening to me, Sara?', accompanied by a puzzled and sometimes shocked expression was the question everyone seemed to be asking me lately. It took me a while to admit that my concentration at work (and practically at everything else) had declined horribly. I'd noticed Nick and Warrick were giving me strange looks that resembled two kids looking at the top student in high school saying to the teacher that she didn't know her lesson.  
  
I was distracted yes, but I had discovered, very early in my life that if you flashed a cute oops-smile everyone thought you were ok and blame the distraction on something else. A lot of things can be hidden behind a smile.  
  
I hadn't walked through the Police Crime Labs door when Grissom whooshed by with Warrick tagging along and mumbled something like "C'mon Sara, let's go!". My head was still muzzy from a bad night of sleep so my response to all that running and plunging into an SUV was somewhat sluggish. He had to yell to me again from the Tahoe. Ok, Girs, I'm going…don't' give me that impatient look, yes I look tired because I am tired. Men.  
  
****  
  
Grissom, Warrick and I were at the crime scene, a huge house whose wealthy owner had 'mysteriously' appeared dead. I've heard that before. Needless to say that after Grissom spotted a serious blunt force trauma in the back of the vic's neck we were considering this a homicide. First theory: a burglar that did not like to be interrupted.  
  
Grissom, after snapping his rubber gloves on, told me to bag a small replica of an Oscar Award that could be the murder weapon. My fingers were inches from the gold statue when Grissom hollered "Sara!". I gasped.  
  
I wasn't wearing gloves.  
  
I flinched my hand away from the statue, my heart pounding in my chest. I had forgotten the rubber gloves.  
  
What was I thinking? I think that was the problem, I wasn't thinking.  
  
Slowly I turned my head towards Grissom, he had a flashlight in his right hand and his eyes, just like mine, were wide open. In a crime scene you do not touch anything without wearing gloves. I couldn't believe what I almost did. He couldn't believe it. That was the man I was always dying to please. He didn't seem pleased at all.  
  
Grissom sighed and shook his head. The expression on his face sent a clear massage: 'I knew you were distracted and tired but I'm drawing a line right here, missy. Don't destroy my crime scene'. I didn't move a muscle, I could see he didn't know what to do with me. "Go outside, take some air and come back when you feel like---", he paused, "…come back when you're ready."  
  
I lowered my eyes and went outside 'to take some air'. I went to the vic's backyard since the front yard was crawling with policemen and press members. I leaned back flat against the wall. I was loosing it, I was loosing it. I started to cry, softly and quietly. No sobs just a few sniffs and tears. My back slid down until I was sitting on the ground, with my chin resting on my knees and my arms hugging my legs.  
  
My world was falling apart, piece by piece. I was so tired that I almost fell asleep right there in the victim's backyard. That could've turned into a horrible joke: the case was soooo boring that the CSI's fell asleep at the crime scene.  
  
Five minutes later I was bagging evidence like a pro but under the watchful eye of Gil Grissom.  
  
I avoided eye contact with Grissom for the rest of the shift, I didn't talk for the rest of the shift either. I was too ashamed and I was too exhausted.  
  
I considered taking time off but that would have only meant I would have all day to torture myself with Dylan, his photos and the possibility of quitting my job just to make it all stop. I decided against that option.  
  
After Catherine informed me that we were going to pull another double because of the Oscar guy she told me, with her you're-busted-face, that Grissom wanted to see me in his office. She also asked me if I was ok so I deduced Warrick or Grissom himself had told her about the 'incident'. When I got to his office I couldn't walk pass the doorframe, I was so scared.  
  
"Come in", he waved me in without taking his eyes off some paper work he was finishing. I took four steps forward "Sara, sit down I'm not going to bite you." I sat down, still without making eye contact with him. Right now there was a thin brittle line that separated me from insanity. The last thing I needed was a battle against Grissom's unwavering stare.  
  
He dropped his pen on his desk and leaned back in his chair, with is fingers entwined over his stomach "What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing." I lied even though I knew it was useless. At this point it was obvious something was indeed going on.  
  
"Could you please stop staring at you hands?", he asked. I shifted my gaze to the floor.  
  
"Could you look at me please?", he asked again, this time a bit more exasperated. I looked up "I'm not going to fire you if that's what you are thinking. I just want to know what's going on, and if I can do anything to help you, as simple as that."  
  
I squirmed. "There's nothing you can do, I'm just tired" He eyed me doubtfully, tilting his head slightly to his left.  
  
We stayed there, staring into each others eyes in silence. He did that sometimes, he probably thought: if I stare at you long enough you'll tell me the truth. It worked, sometimes.  
  
My mind started to wonder. We've had a special relationship since the first day we met. He teaches, I learn. We both liked that. But there were fleeting moments in which (I think) we both thought that wasn't enough. Like when we talked about the past, three days ago. There's always a 'but' with Grissom. During moments like this one, I felt he didn't want to know me too well or vice versa.  
  
I was almost lost in his eyes when he finally spoke "Rest. Take a day or two off."  
  
I was sure he hadn't bought my excuse for almost doing the biggest crime scene no-no but he wanted to believe it. So there we were in his office, both wrapped up in denial. He knew I was lying and I knew I needed help. He was afraid of stepping into an emotional situation he wouldn't be able to handle and I was afraid that once I told him about omitting crucial evidence on a murder case to free a (guilty) suspect he wouldn't ever think the same of me. He could react the total opposite and understand my reasons or he could react worse and… I was always in the dark when it came to anticipating Grissom's reactions.  
  
I have always looked at people as if they were a puzzle. I was missing one or two pieces of Nick's puzzle. Catherine was a huge puzzle, I had scattered pieces and none of them fit together. Warrick, well, Warrick was Warrick. Finally, Grissom. He had a routine, every time I thought I was about to join two pieces together, he would rock my table and all the pieces would fly everywhere. He's like a 4000 piece puzzle of clear blue sky.  
  
"Thanks but I don't need a day off", I said.  
  
"Are you sure?", he insisted.  
  
"Sure", I stood up and left his office.  
  
Sometimes Grissom can be just as good as me on ignoring the obvious. As Catherine always says to him, he's not a people person.  
  
TBC….  
  
I WANT TO REVIEW THIS FIC…  
  
I WANT TO REVIEW THIS FIC…  
  
I WANT TO PAINT MY BODY GREEN AND DANCE NAKED IN THE STREET TO THE RHYTHM OF "WHO ARE YOU"….sorry, I was just testing you :) 


	4. Part four

Two hours later I was feeling much better, thanks to a cup of coffee and some of Greg's humor. I felt I would be able to handle Dylan. It wouldn't be that difficult, all I had to do was ignore him and continue with my life, get a good night of sleep and do a flawless job on the next case. My plans would be thwarted sooner than I had anticipated.  
  
So far Dylan and I had had two major fights. He always got a sick kick out of annoying me and I was raving mad because we were sharing the same city. Which, let me say, was just a shred too small for the two of us. Basically we were back at square one, San Francisco all over again: tension, tension, tension.  
  
None of our unfriendly tête-à-têtes had taken place anyway near our respective co-workers. Until today.  
  
Warrick, Catherine and I were idling time away in the break room, waiting for a bunch of tests results to come out. Warrick was enthusiastically playing some Nintendo game while Catherine practiced her storytelling abilities on me, telling me about a crazy case she'd had a few years ago. Catherine's back was facing the hallway and Warrick's attention was on the screen when Dylan waltzed pass the break room's door and stopped behind Warrick. He put a picture against the break room's glass wall. He was smiling.  
  
"Cath…could you excuse me for a second?", I asked trying to hold myself together. I must have turned white as a sheet because Catherine looked at me as if I were about to pass out.  
  
"Sure, I'll be here" I raced towards Dylan who was parading the photo around the hallway, holding it by its upper corners with his thumbs and index fingers.  
  
"What do you think your doing?", I asked crossly. Catherine glanced back at us.  
  
"Relax, people can't tell what you're doing by seeing just this picture", he explained, still smiling. I snatched the photo of his hand, folded it four times and slid it into the back pocket of my jeans.  
  
I leaned close to him and whispered "People can tell what you are doing in one of my pictures."  
  
I observed, with pleasure, how his calm and confident façade melted away, revealing his very volatile real self. I could tell by the look in his blue eyes that if we had been alone he would have strangled me with his bare hands. Yeah, he loved me that much. He still couldn't get his brain around the idea that he wasn't in control anymore, that now there were two playing the game.  
  
He grabbed my wrist and twisted in a way that, to any potential observer didn't appear to be hurting me. To be truthful, I was in agony.  
  
"You do that and Grissom gets an early Christmas present."  
  
I glanced to my right, Catherine was staring at us. He released my left wrist, I wriggled my wrist to check if he had done any serious damage.  
  
"I will do it if you pull another act like this one", I lowered my voice until it was above a whisper "If you don't back off I'll---"  
  
"You'll what?", he howled at me. He had his hands on his hips, the schmuck. This time Warrick turned around to investigate the source of the noise, as did many of the staff around.  
  
Suddenly it hit me: he was testing me. He wanted to now if I had changed during the time we'd been apart. He was just 'playing' with me, trying to make me snap.  
  
Smile, Sara, make it look like he cracked a joke.  
  
"Remember", I threatened him with my best 'i'm-cute' smile, "if you pull the trigger, I will too."  
  
I was seething. If I had an ulcer it would be bleeding right now.  
  
Our staring contest finished when he spun around and walked away, leaving me with a sore wrist and the inner desire to beat the crap out of him. I considered taking up boxing. I had to find an outlet or else someone would wind up hurt.  
  
I took a deep breath and let the air slowly out through my mouth. I was tired of the empty threats, we both knew the other wasn't going to do anything unless the other did it first. Why couldn't we just arrange a friendly photo swap and get on with our lives? I knew the answer to that. I knew he was a backstabbing pig and he didn't trust me. Oh, what a healthy relationship.  
  
"Are you OK? You look a bit pale." That was Catherine, looking very concerned.  
  
"Yeah, I'm OK." We didn't say a word for a few awkward seconds. By the look on Catherine's face I could tell that she knew the conversation hadn't been a friendly one. And here I was thinking my fake smile had worked.  
  
"It looked like you two were fighting", she said, "He is the new 'heart breaker' from 'Frisco, right?"  
  
"Yeah, he's a jerk too, add that to your profile", I replied.  
  
"I talked to him a few days ago, he's one smarmy guy. My female instinct, which has never failed me, tells me he has the ego the size of a Malibu condo."  
  
I didn't know if she was sharing her assessment of Mr. Harris biggest character flaw with me to make me feel better or because she really thought that way. I decided it was the latter, Catherine could read men and their intentions faster than I could say 'cheese'.  
  
"You're not wrong about his ego", I said as we went to the lab. Greg had the results in his hand. I mentally commanded myself to channel all the energy I had left on the case and how to solve it.  
  
  
  
**********  
  
I breathed in the cold, fresh air of the 'outside' as opposed to the unnatural air conditioning atmosphere 'inside' the Las Vegas Police Crime Lab. I padded across the parking lot towards my car. I had a few goals in mind, get home, take two of my magic sleeping pills and sleep like a log until the next shift or until the end of the world, whichever came first. I wasn't going to think, ponder or torture myself with the past. The only mental activity I had planned was choosing what pajamas I would wear. Nothing would stop me---  
  
This is a joke. This can't possibly be true, I'm hallucinating.  
  
I squinted. Two flat tires??.  
  
I went to check the other side of my car. Four??  
  
I did the math in my head. I had pissed off Dylan and now I have four flat tires. Gee, I don't see the connection.  
  
I squatted beside one of the tires, it had a slit on it, probably from a knife. Damn him.  
  
"I can't take this anymore", I said out loud.  
  
"What can't you take anymore?"  
  
I turned my head to the left to see a pair of familiar shoes beside a bunch of folders and documents I had dropped on the pavement at the sight of my crippled car. I looked up. Oh-o. Grissom.  
  
"Nothing. I mean, flat tires. I hate them."  
  
He lifted all my papers off the pavement and waved me to an SUV, parked a few spaces from my car.  
  
"Come on, I'll give you a ride." I glanced forlornly at my car, and then back at him. I remembered my sleeping pills, waiting for me on my bedside table. Screw the car, I'll do something about it tomorrow.  
  
TBC… 


	5. Part five

BSS=big Sara smile Thanks for reviewing.  
  
**********  
  
The ride to my apartment was dead silent. The humming of the engine was interrupted only by my voice giving Grissom directions and the soft beeping of the SUV announcing that Grissom was about to turn around a corner. This 'peaceful' ride made me think about the ominous calm that precedes the storm.  
  
When we got there, Grissom killed the engine with a twist of the key. He didn't say anything just sat there with his hands on the steering wheel. We both glanced to the left. There was my apartment. Time to go home. Neither of us attempted to get out of the car.  
  
"This is me", I said. He didn't utter a word. It was dark but the full moon cast a whitish light over his face, it almost didn't look like Grissom.  
  
He let out a long exhausted sigh, and turned his head towards me, his face was serious "Do you think I'm such a bad supervisor?", he asked with sad eyes. The question scattered my thoughts like marbles. I frowned.  
  
"What?", I asked.  
  
A bunch of noisy 20-year-olds staggered across the street, screaming to the night that they had made 500 bucks at a casino and that they didn't care about the 2 thousand they had lost first. What a Bizarre city. With capital B.  
  
His gaze, momentarily distracted by the drunk gamblers, was fixed on me again, "Do you think I'm such a bad supervisor that you can't tell me what is affecting you so much that you were inches away of touching a key piece of evidence with your bare hands?"  
  
Wow, that was a long question. The answer was even longer. I scanned his face before addressing his question, he seemed hurt although I couldn't figure out why.  
  
"You never share anything with me, or with anybody else for that matter. Why would I share anything with you? From my point of view you don't portray the open-up-to-me-tell-me-your-problems kind of person or supervisor", I closed my eyes for a second, while I rubbed my temples and then added, "I'm sorry, that came out a bit harsher than I'd intended."  
  
The car fell silent. I could tell he was trying to digest my blunt words. Suddenly, the unexpected happened, he smiled. Gradually his smile transformed into a grin. Grissom grinning? Wow. I might as well go to my apartment make a note in my calendar and call it a day.  
  
"What---Why are you grinning?", I asked quizzically. I found myself smiling too. I couldn't help it, people didn't have to do much to make me smile, even now.  
  
He lifted his right hand, his index finger pointing at me "I knew", he started, "from the first day we met that you were going to give me headaches." He was still smiling.  
  
It had been on one of his seminars. See? Teacher, student that's the way it had all started. I remembered he was wearing a dark blue suit with a white shirt, I didn't remember the tie though.  
  
Anyway, it had been really hot that day and the fact that the room was packed with people hadn't helped. We were all melting in our seats, during the first 20 minutes Grissom had lost his jacket and his tie. Grissom's striptease produced lustful sighs through out the room coming from the female audience (me included). He started to ask questions, he was trying to make a point or something, I knew the first one so I raised my hand. I answered correctly. He was fanning his face with a piece of paper when he asked another question, I answered it again. He asked again and everyone laughed when I raised my hand, yet again. He smiled and asked me if I wanted to replace him at this lecture while he took a shower. I couldn't believe so much had happened since then.  
  
"I'm sorry", I apologized shyly, "If it makes you feel better, you've given me a few headaches too." That drew another smile.  
  
Without warning, he did the unthinkable. I didn't think my heart, no matter how young and healthy, could take another surprise. Yet, it did.  
  
"My father never listened to me", this could not be happening, "He always had more important things to do than to listen to me. When I was eight I doubted he even knew my name", his tone wasn't of self-pity in fact he was talking as if he really hadn't cared much. Of course one can get really good at lying to oneself. I guessed Grissom had had enough practice to master that self-destructing ability.  
  
"I'm sorry", I whispered, still mystified by Grissom's behavior.  
  
"Don't be, I had a wonderful mom. I was always trying to please my father, though. I don't know why, he didn't deserve it." We had more things in common that I thought. "He liked science so I used to read science magazines just to see if anything would make him say more than three words to me", he was gazing at the street, "'Dad, did you know that there are two hundred and thirty three zillion trees on Earth?", we laughed, "I think I really asked him that once."  
  
"Did it work?", I asked. I had turned 90 degrees on the passenger seat and I was resting my back on the car's door. I had forgotten that we were still inside his car.  
  
He shook his head. "No, he was too engrossed in his own problems." He folded his arms across his chest and glanced at me, it was my turn now. I felt trapped.  
  
"I have to go", I turned around to open the door but I stopped when I heard the familiar click. He'd locked the doors. Smart Grissom, very smart.  
  
I bit my lower lip, the boss was determined "You're not going to let me out unless I tell you what's going on, right?"  
  
He shook his head again "No, I won't." He could be so charming when he wanted. Maybe I had misjudged him earlier.  
  
"Would you let me out if I say we continue this conversation in my apartment?"  
  
For the record, I wasn't thinking about sex, that didn't even crossed my mind, I was way too tired.  
  
He pondered my offer for few moments probably thinking that if he wanted to have a serious talk with me it would have to be in a place where I felt safe.  
  
Click. The doors were unlocked.  
  
  
  
TBC… 


	6. Part six

Ok, I tried to make this as real as possible but I'm human and this is my first angst fic. One more thing, I saw Sara's apartment after I wrote this fic so, the apartment that I had imagined has nothing to do with the real one.  
  
************  
  
"Do you want a drink or something?", I asked after tossing my jacket over the first piece of furniture I came across and headed to the kitchen.  
  
"No thanks." I couldn't see him but somehow I knew what he was doing. When I got back from the kitchen I saw him studying my bookcase, pausing from time to time to scan the various portraits I had there. I sat on my couch and I glanced at my table, the stacks of cards were still there.  
  
"This is you?", he asked in amazement, he had the portrait in his hands. He turned it towards me. I nodded. I was five years old in that picture.  
  
"You look like you don't know if you want to cry or smile. You're almost smiling but your eyes look sad", he said. He put the younger version of me back on the top shelf of the bookcase and sat on the opposite side of my couch.  
  
He had described the picture perfectly, "I wanted to cry actually. My mom wanted me to smile."  
  
"I guess it was a tie."  
  
"Yeah", I said without smiling. I stood up. How was I going to start? What was I going to say? I found myself desperately needing a Valium. I wasn't sure if I was nervous because I was going to tell him something very personal or because I was afraid of his reaction. I just couldn't imagine living my life knowing that I had disappointed him.  
  
"Sara, breathe", he said . Oh, right, breathe. He must've been nervous too, but he didn't show it.  
  
I rubbed my eyes wearily. Soldier on Sara.  
  
I took a deep breath, "Ok. Dylan and I worked together in San Francisco. It was like two years ago. A woman, Susan Addison had called 911 babbling about how she'd shot her husband in self-defense and that he was bleeding, she didn't know what to do and so forth. When the paramedics arrived the guy was stone dead. Dylan and I were assigned to the case. When we arrived at the scene, she was in shock and unresponsive."  
  
Grissom frowned, his eyes never leaving me "…and, was it self-defense?", he inquired. He always knows what to ask.  
  
"Let me finish", I said, "She was taken to the hospital. She had some cuts, bruises, a black eye and a broken rib. From moment one Dylan thought she was lying. At first glance, the crime scene backed up her story. Dylan and I never got along well and at the time I had his ass in a sling because I'd caught him red handed 'borrowing' 12 G's from a crime scene."  
  
Grissom eyes widened, he had to interrupt "You didn't tell your supervisor?"  
  
I stood up and started to pace in circles around the couch "No. Somehow he convinced me not to, he said it wouldn't happen again, that he was having money problems and that he wasn't acting like himself lately. He said he intended to replace the money. I believed him. I was stupid. I mean, since when you can trust people? Anyway, he stayed at the crime scene, asking questions to the neighbors while I went to interview Susan at the hospital."  
  
'Susan', not 'the suspect', not 'Mrs. Addison'. Grissom eyed my suspiciously, he knew then that I had done what he'd told me not to do. Get personally involved. Well…he wasn't there then.  
  
"We talked for an hour. *She* talked for an hour, I couldn't do more than listen and ask a few questions. All the horrible things he'd done to her and her children. She had three, you know? Patrick who was seven, Clare five and Joey three.  
  
For ten years he did nothing but humiliate her in front of the children. He took a swing at her from time to time too. They had horrible fights in front of the kids and she knew that sooner or later their fights would do permanent damage to the children. About a week prior to her 911 call, he had crossed a line by slapping Joey on the face so hard that the kid ended up on the floor. She told me that had given her the courage."  
  
When I walked past Grissom he grabbed my right wrist and squeezed it gently, I stopped in mid-stride. His hand was so warm. He looked up at me "Sit down, you're making me dizzy." He let go of my wrist and patted the couch with his hand.  
  
I sat down and continued "I asked her 'there are shelters you could have gone to you know?' She had been in a couple but her husband always managed to find her, 'he had a lot of cop friends' she'd told me. I checked all this of course, she could've been a skilled liar. God knows I've seen my fare share of those. But, it was all true. Before I knew it I was so emotionally involved in the case that I was having a hard time figuring out where Susan ended and I begun. The 911 call was at 11:30 pm. At 2:00 am, I think, I wasn't paying much attention to the time, I was back at the crime scene . That's where it happened."  
  
I didn't have the strength to look at him so I leaned forward, like I had done after I had finished separating the cards, my elbows on my knees.  
  
I choked back the tears, closed my eyes and went on, "Dylan was finishing the living room. I decided to check the upstairs bedrooms to see if I could find something. I found nothing out of place in the kids bedrooms and their own bedroom was squeaky clean. It seemed almost *too* clean to me. The living room, however, was a royal mess, shattered mirror, broken lamp, furniture turned up side down. Clearly that had been where he had supposedly attacked her. I looked at the bed and I noticed the sheets were new. It occurred to me that she had changed the sheets for some reason so I checked the washing machine, they weren't there. I went outside and checked the garbage can. There they were, soaked in blood and wrapped up in nylon."  
  
I glanced at Grissom, he looked thoughtful, probably trying to find out what had been my predicament. Seconds later, he discovered it, "Sara…what did you do with the sheets?", he asked slowly, pausing at each word.  
  
"I-I… burnt them."  
  
He blinked once.  
  
"You what?!" He couldn't believe what I had just said. My heart lurched, he was mad. Strike that, he looked horrified *and* mad.  
  
I stood up again, "She would've gone to jail! I couldn't do that to her, to her children. Neither of them had any brother's or sisters and his and her parents were dead. They kids would've ended up in foster care", I couldn't contain the tears anymore, so I let them run freely.  
  
Grissom stood up too, we were facing each other.  
  
"But she murdered her husband in his sleep Sara!", he said raising his voice.  
  
This was the man I was always dying to please.  
  
"I know! I know!", I screamed, "You think I didn't know that! But it was self-defense! She'd done everything within her reach to get away from him and she couldn't. What was she supposed to do? Get a restraining order that would eventually piss him off even more? Those aren't worth the paper they're written on anyway. How about calling the police? She'd be better off throwing herself and the kids of a 20 story building. She's not a danger to anyone except to her husband and he's dead."  
  
I was clinging to the last bits of my self-control and all Grissom was doing now was tugging and tugging.  
  
"He was *sleeping*, Sara! That's cold blooded murder", he retorted, "I can't believe you-*you* of all people did that. What were you thinking?!"  
  
That's it, something inside my head snapped.  
  
"I wasn't, Grissom! I wasn't thinking, sometimes people don't think! You- you don't understand! It *was* self-defense! She killed him while he was sleeping because she was too afraid of him when he was awake. She did it for her kids, she didn't want them to grow up listening to their fights!", I was sobbing so hard that I was having trouble breathing "You---you don't know what it's like to---to grow up listening to your father scre--- screaming at your mother that she's useless, that everything she does is wrong!", I sniffled, I thought I would stop crying but I felt a new batch of warm tears running down my cheeks, "He was always shouting and my mom always tried to calm him down! Do you know what is like to live in a house where your father is a time bomb waiting to go off at any second? He didn't respect her, or me. He only cared about his buddies at the police station. My mom-God bless her-never *once* raised her voice, she thought that was the best for me. That it would 'upset me to see her screaming'. Can you believe that?? She thought *that* would upset me. She let him walk over her without uttering a damn peep! I would never let anyone do that to me!"  
  
"Shh, it's ok---". Grissom was overwhelmed, he didn't know what to do with all that information. I had just realized that I was talking about me and not about Susan's case.  
  
"NO, IT'S NOT OK!! HE TOOK PICTURES!", I collapsed on the floor gasping for air. I couldn't stop the tears, all followed the same path, run slowly down my cheek, lingered on my chin for a second and then landed on my pants.  
  
"Who? Who took---?" He was lost.  
  
"DYLAN!! He took pictures of everything!!", I covered my face with my hands, "He took pictures of me with the bloody sheets and of me burning the freaking sheets! One single moment of weakness and that vulture took advantage of it! I never did that again, I'm different now! I wouldn't do it now! I swear!"  
  
"Yes, I know you wouldn't…You're trying to say that he blackmailed you?", I felt his voice, soft and calming near me. He didn't sound mad anymore.  
  
I nodded without uncovering my face, the sobs wouldn't let me speak. He sat beside me, put his left arm around me and pulled me gently towards him. All this while he repeated, 'shhh, it's ok'.  
  
"I couldn't say anything because I would loose my job, Susan would go to jail and her kids to foster care. I had four lives in my hand, this was never only about me. Dylan of course, found that amusing. He offered me a deal, he wouldn't show the pictures to the supervisor and I wouldn't tell him about how a CSI, level three had a taste for dead people's money."  
  
If I had just told the supervisor about Dylan's activities earlier this would've never had happened. That 'If I had done this instead of that' thought didn't help and I started to cry again.  
  
"Shhh, Let it all out."  
  
I realized that I had never spoken to anyone about this before. When I came to Las Vegas I'd blocked the memory, for me it had never happened. I needed a fresh start.  
  
Occasionally a case would make a hole in that emotional wall and I would momentarily loose my balance. Like with Scott Shelton. I'll never forget his face when he saw the walls red, the poor bastard even tried to deny it.  
  
"I took pictures of him too", I said between sniffles "He thought I was too afraid of him to try any sort of revenge, he was always very confident. I took pictures of him stealing money from a crime scene."  
  
Our eyes met. "You made it worst, didn't you?", he so wisely asked.  
  
"Yeah", he wiped a fresh tear from my right cheek "He still can believe I did that", I smiled proudly, although I didn't know if I should be proud of that, "He doesn't think I'll actually use the pictures against him because he knows I love my job. If I do something, he'll do it too."  
  
"Sara", he shook his head, "Now I understand why you practically jumped at the opportunity to work here. Is there anything I can do to help?"  
  
"No. I'll handle it myself. I've done it for two years anyway."  
  
Nope, there was nothing he could do. He had done enough by listening.  
  
He asked me a few more questions about Susan's case and about that pain in the neck named Dylan. He didn't say ' what you did was wrong', 'I can't believe you did that' again but I knew he had his own opinion about the subject. Well, I'll find out about that tomorrow. I answered all his questions until the lack of sleep and the emotional roller coaster I'd gone through claimed its toll and I fell asleep right there on my couch.  
  
  
  
TBC…  
  
********* 


	7. the end

This is it. I won't bother you anymore. If you need anything from me call 1- 800 HEAVEN and ask for the crazy angel, they'll understand.  
  
**********************  
  
I woke up and did my morning routine. I yawned a couple of times, stretched my body to its full height, disentangled myself from the sheets and sluggishly got out of bed. I trudged to my kitchen to find Grissom comfortably settled on a chair with a thick book in his hands, two cups of coffee on the table and a package of donuts.  
  
I gasped "You scared me."  
  
"I'm sorry. You slept well?", he asked, putting away the book.  
  
"Surprisingly well considering that I'm wearing tight jeans."  
  
"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you up last night, you seemed so exhausted." I frowned and squinted at his clothes, something didn't square.  
  
"You---did you changed your clothes?", I asked still a bit disoriented and sleepy.  
  
"Good memory. I went to my apartment, took a shower, changed and came back", he said before biting into a donut, the man was hungry.  
  
"I thought you'd leave." I was nicely surprised.  
  
"What? Have you opened your fridge lately? Someone has to feed you."  
  
He smiled and I smiled back. For some reason I thought about the first time we met.  
  
My stomach growled. I mumbled something about showering and 'be right back' and left Grissom alone in my kitchen again.  
  
I returned 15 minutes later, showered, changed and fresh as a daisy. I sat down in front of him, grabbed a donut and my cup of coffee. Amazingly it was still hot. I could feel Grissom's eyes on me, watching my every move. I knew him enough to know he had something in his mind.  
  
I played the mind reader and between bites I said, "If you want to ask me something, go ahead do it." He mulled it over while I finished my first donut and started the second. I swear I could hear my grandmother's voice inside my head: 'Sara, honey, you're not eating like a lady'. I'm starving grandma', who the hell cares.  
  
"Why didn't you make an exchange?". I stopped chewing and he continued, "The way I see it, he should've offered you an exchange. Your pictures for mine, like a blackmailer's truce."  
  
I laid the half eaten donut over a napkin besides my cup of coffee and swallowed the rest. Evidently he had done some thinking while I was in dreamland. I sipped my coffee.  
  
"In a perfect world, yes. In Dylan's wicked world, no", he sipped his coffee and looked at me over the rim of the cup, "He's a risk taker. Why else would he steal money from a crime scene if he's rich. Yes, I know, the bastard lied to me the first time. I hate went people lie to me." Grissom almost choked on his coffee.  
  
"He's rich?", he asked, putting down the cup, "The plot thickens, I guess there has to be an important Daddy who doesn't want to be embarrassed by his delinquent son."  
  
"Yes, actually there is, but don't get your hopes up. I met him once and he's just like his---his 'off-spring'", I said with hint of disgust in my voice, "They're both risk-takers-swimming-with-crocodiles-adrenaline- junkies. Chip off the old block."  
  
He nodded slowly and took another sip of his coffee. If there was something Grissom couldn't hide was his curiosity.  
  
"Didn't I say that if you had a question, go ahead? Unlike you I'm most likely to respond with more than a monosyllable." That hit right on the target, Grissom sadly lowered his eyes and begun swirling what was left of his coffee. Maybe I went a bit too far, "I'm sorry, that was out of line. I can't help it sometimes, you know? Making those kind of comments?"  
  
He smiled and nodded again. "Ask the question. I mean it", I said. I felt so grateful towards him. It was a relief that someone besides me knew about Susan and Dylan.  
  
"Was your father a cop?", he asked tentatively.  
  
"Yeah", I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible "Homicide detective. But don't worry, all I inherited from him was his workaholism and the eye color." He smiled.  
  
"I guess the sense of humor was from your mom, right?". I smiled, nodded and sipped my lukewarm coffee. I winced and pushed the cup to the center of the table, that black liquid was no longer drinkable.  
  
"Have you seen your father recently?". I was gambling all my chips in that question. I could loose everything, meaning that I would get another dry 'no' or 'yes'. Or I could win and he would open up. People, place your bets and let the roulette decide.  
  
"No", he replied after a short silence, "And I prefer it that way, I only regret not seeing my mother often. They still live together." He sipped his coffee and imitated my earlier reaction. Wince, frown, push cup to center of table.  
  
I shook my head, "Incredibly, mine live together too. That's why I left the house the first chance I got. I tried to take my mom with me but she didn't want to. I guess she really loves him. It wasn't always bad, you know? There were happy moments too."  
  
"What was it like?", he asked, taking a peek at his wrist watch. I did the same. There was still time.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Living in such a – how should I say it, hostile environment?"  
  
I meditated a few moments, trying to come up with a clear example so he could understand it without me having to give too many ugly details.  
  
"Let's see. When you were little you must've listened to your parents arguing about something. At lest once, if not more." He nodded.  
  
"How did it make you feel?", I asked. He looked skywards, trying to remember.  
  
"Scared. I wanted to stop it."  
  
"That's normal, I felt the same way. But eventually your parents would stop fighting, my father never stopped screaming and complaining from the minute he walked through the door."  
  
"And what did you do?"  
  
"My first instinct was to run upstairs and hide under my bed. If he came home really pissed off from work he'd turn on the radio to muffle shouts. He was a cop, he had to keep the appearances. I covered my ears and tried to follow the lyrics. It always had a sedative effect on me."  
  
I learnt a lot of song lyrics that way.  
  
He frowned, "That sounds like entering into some kind of trance", he said. He was right, it wasn't your typical yoga technique with the 'omm' and the 'find a spot of inner calm and concentrate on it' sort of thing, but it worked for me.  
  
"I still do it when I'm stressed, without the radio of course. Sometimes I don't ever realize I'm doing it", I exhaled loudly, the conversation was bringing back unhappy memories, "So, to answer your question, living in that 'hostile environment' as you so accurately put it, was like living in any other environment. I got used to it", he frowned, "Don't misinterpret this, I got used to being careful when my father was around, I never got used to the screaming and occasional violence. That was always unnerving. You have your father an I have mine."  
  
We both glanced at our watches. It was time to go back to work. Back to the lab, the break room, Dylan, the assignments, Greg's jokes…. On the way to work Grissom and I agreed on keeping this a secret. As stupid as this might sound, the fact that he knew about my 'problem' with Dylan, made me feel more confident. I was going to put up with Dylan's crap but I wasn't alone anymore. I still had a big question mark in my head. It had been nagging me for a while.  
  
"Aren't you going to say anything about what I did to the sheets?"  
  
He swerved the SUV to the left and into the parking lot. He remained silent. He steered the vehicle between a black minivan and a white sedan and brake smoothly.  
  
"Oh, I'm going to say *plenty* of things", I lowered my eyes, "but we have to work now."  
  
"Are you mad?", I asked before getting out of the SUV. He looked at me from the other side of the car. He gave it a moment and then replied.  
  
"I will be if you don't stop doing my crossword puzzles."  
  
  
  
Across.  
  
(1. opposite of 'the beginning', written when a movie finishes)  
  
1. THEEND 


End file.
